Hips and Such

Well, people, I have been not too dependable as a blogger.  This may be because I have been trying too hard, or because the sun has been shining too brightly, or, well, you get the idea.  I don’t know what’s up with my writing but I have decided to try to put in at least 300 words per day.  This is a measly number, I realize, but I have read that this is a recommended minimum when writer’s block-or whatever-has reared its ugly head.  Pretty ugly, the thing.

So, here I go.  Hmm.  Well, let’s see.  I haven’t really talked much about my actual life, now have I?  I know that I mentioned my hip replacement surgery, didn’t I?   Well, I’ll have you know that the whole thing went fabulously, at least that’s what they tell me.  I certainly felt fabulous when I woke up with morphine coursing through my veins, well actually the surgeon inserted some sort of drug-delivery device in my spine which kept me flying for around 18 hours.  Nice.  I was awake within 3-4 hours and ready for a meal.  And boy, was I in a good mood.  I could not stop chattering every time a poor unsuspecting nurse entered my room.  They were appropriately kind and I guess they enjoyed some of my banter, for they gave me a get-well card when I was discharged.

Of course the needle madmen/women were at me every few hours, which I actually didn’t mind, not even one little bit, but when the physical therapist arrived, my sweetness and light turned to drudgery and pain!  I knew they were coming, and damn it, they did.  Oh, never believe the apparent benevolence on their professionally encouraging faces!

“And how are we feeling today, Ms. Rogers?  Ready to give it a try?”  They meant that walker I’d seen lurking on the other side of the room.  ”Of course,” I complained, thinking about the impossibility of moving my leg off the bed in the first place, much less walk on the poor thing.  Well, let me tell you, it was no walk in the park; actually it was a walk to the bathroom.   The indignity of using a walker-poorly-was just about more than I could stand.  But, whatcha gonna do?

Well, once we returned home my hubby ‘tricked out’ my walking aide, strapping on cup holders and a sort of satchel for my morning paper and other sundries.  Which proved invaluable-for one week!  Yes, at 52, age was finally an advantage, and I began lurching around the house on my own.  My animals were frozen in absolute terror most of the time, but I learned to veer somehow and  squashed nary a one!  My biggest challenge became regaining my grace. Yeah, right.  I kept telling myself to stop walking like a duck.  And, what do you know, my hubby told me just today that I walk just like I used to.

Fabulous all around.  And, hey, this post has more than 300 words.  Yeah for me!  I’ll banish the ugly thing one of these days.

Bye!